Corpus Verto
by Molly Myles
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester get a new perspective on each other during a hunt when things take a turn for the freaky... How do they cope when they find their places inexplicably swapped? And what happens when they call Cas, only to have the angel lose his mojo before they find the answers to this bizarre case? This story is now complete. Not my best work, but it was fun to write.
1. Chapter 1

"Don't touch my junk, Sammy"

The younger Winchester cast his eyes upward, locking with his brother's fierce gaze.

"Dean," Sam started, almost pouting.

"No way. Sit down if you have to, you are -not- touching my junk"

Sam rolled his eyes. Things had already been awkward, but now it was just getting out of hand and this particular argument showed no signs of slowing. In fact, things could get ugly from here.

The angel stood by the door to the tacky motel room, nonplussed as his eyes moved from Dean to Sam and back again as they exchanged more and more colourful metaphors. Castiel tried to keep up, but by the time the brothers were in each other's faces, he no longer understood the references.

The weirdness had begun roughly an hour ago, when Dean, always the early riser, rolled out of bed.

The wrong bed.

In the wrong body.

_SAM's _body.

It was going to be a very, very long day.

[XXXXXX]

Dean felt something _off_ almost the moment his eyes had opened. For one, there was a bed blocking his view of the door. He always took the bed by the door, so he could get himself in the way of anything or anyone that tried to bust through the door and protect Sammy. That was his job, after all. He was the older brother.

With a jerk and a snort, he reached under the pillow for the demon knife, just in case. You just never know. When his fingers touched the cool steel of Sam's hunting knife, his guts twisted oddly. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he didn't like where this was going.

Grabbing up the knife anyway (because what the hell, right? Whatever this was, he was going to stab it in the face, repeatedly. And if it didn't have a face, well, he'd stab it in the face anyway), Dean rolled to his feet. At the ends of his too-long, too straight legs. Which were more than happy to acquaint his face with the floor.

Swearing loudly, punctuating each curse with vulgarity, Dean pushed himself up to his knees and flipped on the light on the night stand.

That's when he entered the Twilight Zone for real.

Staring back at him, propped up on his elbows, was a very shocked looking double of himself, his green eyes wide with horror, mouth an O of unvoiced screaming for what must have been a full ten second break before he watched himself spin off the other side of the bed- silver demon killing knife in hand.

His double seemed to fare no better, however, gracelessly landing on his ass on the other side of said bed in a tangle of sheets and crappy motel blankets with a very calm and collected "AUGH!"

"Son of a bitch, what the hell is going on.."

[XXXXXX]

After a round of salted holy water, silver, a couple of quick lacerations with the demon knife and a battery of other tests and quizzes, the brothers finally accepted there was some kind of mind-swap dickery going on, possibly having to do with their current hunt.

They sat opposite each other on the beds, staring each other down.

"This is all sorts of freaky-deaky.." Dean grimaced. "I thought you said we were hunting a rugaru?"

"Yeah," Sam said, freaked out by the basso timbre of Dean's voice in his ears as he spoke. "I thought we were! I don't know, a witch maybe? It doesn't make sense..."

"Ugh, it would be a witch. Man, I hate witches... all those... bodily fluids.." Dean shuddered, which made Sam wince, seeing his body twitch with his brother's inherent mannerisms.

"Just... calm down. Let's check for hex bags..."

"I am calm, Sammy. In fact, I think I'm being _extremely _calm, given the current situation. I am the god damn SULTAN of calm."

"Look, whatever, just help me search the room, okay?"

The boys searched the room from bottom to top, turning up nothing useful, other than an old Playboy, stuck behind the headboard of Sam's bed, which distracts Dean for a moment before a pillow, thrown by Sam, whaps him in the face and knocks the skin mag out of his hands.

"HEY!"

"Focus, please..."

"I am focused." Dean pouts as he plops back down on the bed despondently.

"... Maybe we should call Cas."

Dean opens his eyes, sighing. "Yeah. Good call. Maybe Cas can figure out what this is and fix us..."

"Worth a shot, right?"

Dean hauls himself upright, closing his eyes as he speaks. "Castiel, Castiel, wherefore art thou, Castiel. We could use a little help here."

Sam holds his breath as he waits. Dean cracks an eye open as the telltale fluttering sound floats through the room with an accompanying soft breeze, Castiel standing by the motel room door, all but gaping at the brothers, puzzled.

"So yeah," Dean says, smirking a bit with Sam's mouth. "Got any ideas?"

Castiel opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, tilting his head in that infuriating yet endearing way he does when he's puzzled by something.

"Dean," Castiel begins, seeming to struggle for a moment.

"... Yeah?"

"... Why are you in your brother?"

Dean turns red instantly. "Well it wasn't exactly planned, Cas."

Sam rolls his eyes, throwing his hands in the air as he gets up from the bed. "I have to pee."

"Woah woah woah.." Dean jumps to his... Sam's feet. "You are _not _gonna go in there touching my junk."

Sam sputters, nearly stumbling, not sure if Dean is messing with him or not. "What? Dean, dude... come on, seriously?"

"No means no, Sammy."

"Dean, that is the stupidest..."

"I mean it," Dean fumed. "Don't touch my junk, Sammy."

Well, I think you're caught up to speed, now, more or less.

[XXXXXX]

"You're acting like a five-year old, Dean. I think we've got more important things to worry about at the moment."

Sam dashes into the bathroom before Dean can provide any further protest on the matter, slamming the door shut and locking it.

"SAMMY! TWO SHAKES, GOT IT? TWO!"

"Dean..."

At the sound of his name, Dean turns to face the utterly perplexed looking angel still standing shell shocked by the door and sighs.

"I dunno, Cas. No hex bags, no weird objects, no hoodoo of any kind that we could find in the room. I dunno, can you, uh.. see anything?"

"I will try, Dean..."

With that, Castiel moves close to Dean, assessing him closely. After a moment, the angel lifts his first and second fingers to Dean's (Sam's?) temple, closing his eyes.

"I'm still gonna be able to poop after this, right?"

Castiel ignores him, searching for the telltale signs of magical workings in the hunter.

After what seems like an eternity, Castiel opens his depthless blue eyes and lowers his hand, looking (much further) up to meet Dean's gaze.

"There is evidence of psychic transferral, however, I am unable at this time to determine what exactly this working is, or how to undo it."

Sam chooses this moment to finally emerge from the bathroom, looking frazzled and a bit green.

Dean scowls at him, but at the moment he's more occupied by his mind translating Cas's words into 'No clue, sorry, you're boned'.

"So basically you're saying we're screwed?" Dean yawped.

Castiel raised an eyebrow and inclined his head, almost conspiratorily.

"No," he stated calmly. "I merely said that I am unable at this time to identify the cause of your affliction."

"How is he afflicted?" Sam interjected. "He's not the one who has to be him at the moment."

"Shaddap, Sammy," Dean said flatly. Sam counted it a small victory.


	2. Chapter 2

With little else to go on but the case that brought them into town, the boys decide that their best course of action for the time being would be to carry on with their investigation, now with Castiel tagging along.

After paying up the room for another day, they all pile into the Impala.

"What are we thinking, Biggerson's? Coz I'm thinking Biggerson's." Dean implored his companions.

"I do not think that Biggerson's caused this, Dean. Apart from your experience with the-"

"We do NOT TALK about the sandwich, Cas." Dean leveled a pointed glare at him over the top of the car, which earned him another head tilted, scrunched up expression of perplexity from the Angel.

Sam gave Dean one of those pinched, side-long, almost traumatized looks before getting into the passenger seat, Castiel climbing in behind him into the back seat, settling himself in the middle.

Damn it was weird to see Sam's expressions on his own face.

Dean shrugged and slid in on the driver's side of the vehicle, banging his head on the frame.

"OW! Son of a bitch! Do you HAVE to be so FREAKISHLY tall?"

"Jeez, sorry..."

"Ergh. If this didn't suck enough already..." Dean wriggled in the seat, hunching his shoulders and squinting, ducking his head dramatically and sliding down a bit in the seat, grunting as he brought his knees up, banging them into the steering wheel.

Sam sighed, aware that Dean was making this little scene out to be more than it actually was, and reached over, pushing Dean back against the seat and adjusting the wheel up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sammy."

"Stop being such a big baby about everything..."

"You touch my car again and I swear I'll cut your hands off..."

"You mean your hands, don't you?" Sam supplied, running his hands all over the the dashboard with an antagonistic grin.

"Sammy..." Dean warned, shoving a tape in the deck and starting the car, cranking the volume loud as AC/DC's _Rock and Roll ain't Noise Pollution _began blasting out of the Impala's stereo.

Sam groaned. Dean had played this album for six hours straight the previous day.

"Quit ya whinin'"

"Would it kill you to switch tapes once in a while at least?"

"Driver. Music. Shotgun. Cakehole."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, suddenly wondering if he shouldn't just 'zap' ahead and meet them at the restaurant, if they were going to continue this.

[XXXXXX]

"Are you really going to eat that crap? Now?" Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean as he ordered a triple bacon cheeseburger with fries AND onion rings AND mozzarella sticks AND a chocolate milkshake. It made Sam's stomach turn just at the thought.

"What, you ordered salad. It's only fair."

"Yeah, but, salad isn't going to give you a coronary by the time you're forty, Dean."

Castiel sat in the corner of the booth beside Dean, an uncomfortable look on his face.

He was glad that Sam and Dean were taking their situation in stride, as always. He knew that humans were quite attached to their shapes, and the Winchesters were no exception. Their experience with the paranormal had prepared them to cope with the shock. He could feel the tension in them, however, and hoped that this would be resolved quickly, before that tension boiled over. Sam, he could fairly well assess, would keep moving forward despite the circumstances until the matter was settled. Dean, on the other hand, he knew to have a violent temper, particularly when he felt he was at a losing end. He also knew that what was happening to the Winchesters scared the crap out of both of them.

"So," Sam addressed Castiel, once their drinks were brought to the table. Dean was making a disgusting spectacle of himself with his milkshake, moaning into the straw with an almost orgasmic look on his face.

Sam glanced around the restaurant and noted that, yep. People were staring. He tried to sink down into his seat, blocking his face from view with one hand and turning toward Castiel.

Castiel seemed to catch Sam's embarrassment and gave Dean a light yet sharp elbow to the ribs, causing Dean to sputter mid-ecstacy.

Sam felt himself crack a smile at Castiel's initiative, silently congratulating the angel on the move as he struggled to choke back full out laughter.

"Dude, Cas, what the hell."

"I have watched your interactions with your brother, and from my observations it is what Sam would have done had he been seated next to you."

Dean paused, shrugging. Dude had a point, and honestly it was too funny whenever Cas tried to emulate human behaviour, so he let it slide. This time.

"Anyway," Sam continued his original dialogue. "You said when you checked Dean you found evidence of 'psychic transferral'... so, what does that mean, exactly? Do you have any ideas yet how this happened?"

"Yes, how. By what means, I am afraid not. This spell, or, curse- whatever it happens to be, is very subtle."

"Great," Sam mumbled into his coffee.

"We do know," Dean proclaimed. "That it wasn't the rugaru."

"Yeah, thanks for that. Because we've heard of so many rugaru witches."

Dean grinned at him and went back to slurping on his milkshake, albeit far less noisily.

"Could be we're dealing with a trickster... an actual trickster. I mean, given the details on the case... our supposed 'rugaru' did eat his wife's lover."

"I do not find that likely," Castiel intoned, staring out the window into the parking lot.

Sam and Dean both turned to look at him.

Castiel turned slowly, feeling their eyes. He glanced between them with a 'what?' expression on his face.

"How is that unlilely, it could be anything?" Sam probed a bit.

"Because, there is no such creature to my knowledge."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"Care to provide a little more detail there Cas?" Dean asked, his milkshake for the moment forgotten.

"What you think of as 'tricksters'" God, he actually did the finger quotes. Dean facepalmed internally. "Are actually a variety of creatures with similar traits. Coyote, fairies, tanuki, Anansi- they are all what you would call tricksters, but are actually a number of creatures and demigods that have been categorized by your kind throughout the millenia."

Castiel settled back, with a brief, smug look on his face, then turned to look out the window again.

Dean shuddered. "Fairies? Damn it I hope not..."

"So it could be any one of those things, then. Do you think any of them are powerful enough to work a spell like this?"

Castiel turned again to look at Sam, though went silent as the waitress returned with their orders.

The conversation stopped as it always did until the waitress had departed, giving Sam (currently occupying Dean's body) a flirtatious little smile, sashaying away.

Dean shot Sam a glare laden with daggers, to which Sam replied with an innocent shrug.

Cas leaned in again, speaking in a hushed tone. "It is possible, though I have not sensed the kind of energy such a being would project." He shifted his eyes uncomfortably between Sam and Dean as though there were more to his thought process than he had revealed thus far, his expression grave.

"What..." Sam stopped scooping dressing from the little bowl onto his salad, intent on what Castiel might say.

"I fear it may be fairies," Castiel finished with a measure of finality in his tone, his expression apologetic.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala while Dean drove, Castiel sitting as stoic as ever in the back- save for his eyes. The angel was gazing casually out the passenger side window, watching the world pass by as they made their way to the crime scene, but Sam knew that there was a lot more going on behind those eyes than his posture admitted.

Having arrived in Grass Valley, California well past business hours the previous night on their investigation of a possible rugaru, the boys had only done a precursory check of the single story farmhouse at the end of the cul-de-sac before heading to their motel at the outskirts of the town.

"The body of Frank Garten was found in the bedroom," Sam relayed to his companions. "The odd thing is, Ben Hopphner was 37, and his wife shot him to death." Sam frowned down at the police report in his hands, which they had just acquired from the police station.

The station visit was nearly a fiasco. Dean usually did the introductions and Sam took over the bargaining once their cover was established. Dean now being the taller of them, with his naturally aggressive demeanor, didn't exactly go over well with the town's sheriff. Sam wondered idly if he seemed that intimidating to others, or if it was just Dean's oceanic ego that made him look like some sort of lanky ogre.

"Wait, that doesn't make sense," Dean glanced at him briefly before swinging his concentration back onto the road ahead. "I thought rugaru changed at thirty, and it would take a lot more than a bullet to put down a rugaru..."

"Yeah, either this guy's got one hell of a constitution, or we're dealing with something else."

Dean set his jaw, the expression looking out of place on his brother's face. Sam could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to mull it over in his head.

"You thinking maybe Tinkerbell did it," Dean concluded after a long pause. "Hopphner takes the rap?"

"I don't know what to think anymore, Dean, nothing's fitting into any lore I can think of off the top of my head."

"Well," Dean huffed. "I do know this was the last place we were before we were at the motel. So I figure we go kick the hornet's nest and see what pops out. Whaddaya say, Sammy?"

Castiel frowned from the back seat. "I do not think that disturbing stinging insects will affect much," he mused.

"Figure of speech, Cas," Dean tossed over his shoulder as he pulled up in front of the little blue house with the wrought iron fence.

Usually they wouldn't have come on this kind of excursion this early in the day, but the boys were feeling more and more desperate as the hours ticked away.

Judging by the squad car parked a few feet ahead of them, however, it seemed that fate was giving them a break for the first time today. Having just come from the station, they were already dressed up to play FBI with the local cops.

As if on cue, a sturdy looking man in his early fifties stepped out onto the porch, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking pale and drawn. He wore a typical blue uniform with a ball cap perched forward over his short, sterling grey hair.

Spotting the boys, the aging officer straightened up, stepping down to meet them at the gate as they climbed out of the Impala.

"Afternoon, boys. What can I do for you," he offered with forced politeness.

Sam and Dean produced their badge wallets, Castiel taking a cue a half second later and producing one of his own (getting it right side up this time).

"Agents Gibbons," Dean indicated himself. "Hill, and Beard," nodding at Sam and Cas respectively. "We were wondering if you wouldn't mind us taking a look at the scene."

"Deputy Sherriff Blanchard," the lawman answered after looking over their badges with feigned scrutiny. "I'm afraid there's not much left up there, fellas. Forensics combed over the place yesterday morning, cleared out every scrap of evidence they could find. Not like it's gonna mean for much, considering the suspect is deceased, and, well, you read the report I'm sure."

"Yes, sir," Sam confirmed, feeling odd with his gaze lowered, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. Did he always act this way around civilians? He had never really noticed before. He supposed it was simply out of habit, but the more he took in the way he appeared to himself now that his brother occupied his form, with Dean's gruff mannerisms and more aggressive nature, the more he started to realise how intimidating he could be to others.

"Well, have at, I guess," the local officer shrugged, stepping back to allow the trio to pass unimpeded.

Sam let out a sigh of relief once they were inside the doily infested, pastel-walled Northern California home with the door between them and Deputy Blanchard.

"Bug up your ass, Sammy?" Dean raised an inquisitive eye at his brother.

"... Let's just get this done."

"Cas, you come with me and poke your mojo around the bedroom and see if your radar picks anything up. Sammy?"

Sam blinked out of another revery, glancing over at Dean. "Yeah?"

"Get your head screwed back on and go check outside by the shed. Toadstool, oak trees, anything that we might've stepped on last night that might link this bullshit to _some_ kind of useful information."

Sam nodded, heading out back through the kitchen as Dean and Castiel disappeared around the corner and down the hall to the bedroom.

Beginning a circuit around the neatly manicured back lawn, Sam let his thoughts wander again, dividing his attention between searching for clues and trying to make sense of things.

He could tell Dean was beyond stressed. His little display in the restaurant was more than testament to how scared his brother was. Hell, he was just as scared, himself. Dean typically had two general reactions to threats; start shooting or start acting like an asshole teenager. It was just one of his coping mechanisms. Sam understood, in a way. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to the motel and research until he could find something, _anything_, to explain what was going on.

His mind was so deep in thought by the time he had reached the shed that he almost missed it, right behind the shed. Just opposite where he and Dean had hunkered down to check the place out the previous night, was something that might just set them on track... And he had almost stepped in it.

[XXXXXX]

Castiel swept through the room, tilting his head first one way, then the other, sniffing the air purposefully as he circled carefully around the dark patches of still sticky blood soaked into the carpet. Dean scanned the room as well, checking the corners, behind the dresser, in the closets. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, considering how much of a mess this whole thing was turning out to be, but at least he could rule a few things out in the process. No hex bags, nothing that seemed a likely candidate for a cursed object, no creepy old coins or paintings or... hell, there was precisely jack shit here.

With a heavy sigh of irritation, he turned to Cas, who was looming over the bed with an odd expression on his face.

"Cas, whaddaya got?"

"I am not certain," the angel murmured, inspecting something on the sheet. Dean noted Castiel's fingers twitching, as though he was about to reach down and pick something up and then decided better of it.

Dean moved alongside the angel and peeked over his shoulder. There, on the bed, directly within Castiel's line fo sight was a smudge of some kind of bluish... stuff... almost invisible on the blood-soaked sheets.

"Hnh.." Dean remarked profoundly.

"I... cannot determine its origins," Castiel sounded... mildly surprized?

Dean reached down to touch his finger to it, compelled to poke and prod at anything new and potentially dangerous, but Castiel caught his wrist before he got within a few inches of the spot.

"Cas?" Dean raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"..."

Castiel pushed Dean's hand gently away, reaching down with his own fingers and dabbing them lightly in what turned out to be some sort of goop.

Now he was sniffing the goop.

Oh god, now he was putting the goop in his mouth.

"Uh, Cas. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to _eat_ ecto..."

Castiel looked pensive for a moment, like some kind of snobby cheese taster.

"It isn't ectoplasm."

"... It's not?" Well, Dean was out of ideas.

"It's..." (swish-swish) "Sulfuric."

Dean stared at his friend for a moment, vaguely imagining Cas at a wine tasting party or some yuppie crap. "Sulfur. Like -demon- sulfur? Hellfire? Brimstone? Sulfur?"

"Sulfur." Castiel turned to him, leveling up his expressionless blue eyes.

"Sulfur usually isn't gooey, Cas. It's also usually not... are you sure?"

"Yes, Dean. I am sure. There is something else, as well, but there it is certainly sulfur."

"I'll be damned. So what, demons then?"

Cas said nothing, turning toward the window, looking out over the back yard.

"I believe Sam has found something."

Dean went to the window. Sure enough, Sam was striding back toward the house with a paper restaurant napkin in his hand, scrutinizing it. Jeez, did he always walk like that, or was it because Sam was in there? Dean grimaced inwardly as he pulled away from the window to meet Sam in the hall.

"Dean," Sam stopped short as he rounded the corner, Dean and Castiel catching him just outside the kitchen.

Sam held up the wad of paper, a wad of the same brackish substance coating the middle of it. "I didn't find anything that looked like fairies, lore-wise, but I did find this."

"We found the same stuff in the bedroom."

"Some kind of ectoplasm?" Sam cocked an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Cas says it's sulfur of some kind... but this isn't exactly screaming 'demons' to me."

"Demon fairies?" Sam offered with a shrug.

Dean snorted incredulously. "What, a black-eyed hell-bitch Tinkerbell?"

Sam couldn't help but chortle at the image.

Castiel had grown quiet since finding the goop, and Dean realised belatedly that his pointing out Sam's discovery was a distraction to get Dean to stop asking questions.

"Cas," Dean said, turning serious.

Castiel took a deep breath. He was well aware of what Dean would ask him at this juncture.

"It would appear that I was... incorrect." he intoned. "I no longer believe this to be the work of fairies."

The boys exchanged a glance, and then looked back to Castiel, worried by the pensive, disturbed look on their friend's face.

"...I must look into something."

Castiel stood there, staring at an unknown point in space, his brow pinched in concentration. After a moment, he tilted his head to the side, curious.

"Uh..." Dean gave the angel a worried look. "Cas?"

Castiel straightened up, looking somehow resolved and resigned at the same time.

"Something has blocked me from leaving."

"Blocked?" Sam inquired.

"Something has rendered me impotent."

Dean couldn't resist. "Ah, come again?"

Sam whapped his brother in the arm, bitch-facing him.. with his own face. SO weird.

The younger Winchester steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Do you think it has something to do with the sulfuric substance?"

"Told you not to eat it, Cas." Castiel rewarded Dean's remark with his own variation of a bitch-face. Two for two, then. He was on a roll.

Castiel sighed heavily. He would not be much use to the brothers without his abilities. Though he had some experience in human combat thanks to fighting alongside Sam and Dean during the Apocalypse, he was less than confident of himself in this state. It was as though his arms had been tied behind his back and been told to run. He knew that Dean had faith in him, regardless, but still it did nothing to change the fact that he was now powerless to do anything more than operate a firearm, or, more likely, become a liability.

Sam was the first to speak. "We should regroup."

Castiel felt a sense of relief. Sam was typically the wiser of the Winchester brothers, often to Dean's chagrin.

Dean muttered something, agreeing begrudgingly. "All right. We'll head back, Sammy you research the demon snot, me and Cas'll go pick up dinner."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "We just ate, like, three hours ago."

"Damn it, Sammy, all you eat is _rabbit food_. I'm starving. I'll pick you up a carrot on the way back."

Castiel half listened to their bickering on the way back to the car, deeply troubled.

He had still not felt the presence of anything powerful in the town since his arrival. Given that, and his abrupt loss of his angelic powers, he concluded that whatever being it was must be powerful enough to hide itself from his divine senses. That was troubling in and of itself.

There was also the matter of this powerful creature being in such close proximity to his human friends. Castiel was rarely afflicted by strong human emotions, but the fluttering in his chest that had begun to rise was what he had come to know as terror, an emotion he had only ever felt once before. He felt terror when Lucifer had confronted him for throwing a molotov at Michael.

His instincts buzzing with a sudden sense of danger in response to the emotion, Castiel prayed that the theory forming in his mind proved to be incorrect.


	4. Chapter 4

After dropping Sam off at the motel and a quick change of costume, Dean and Castiel headed back out to the Impala and headed off in search of dinner.

Castiel remained pensive in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, Black Sabbath's _Voodoo _reverberating through the car's speakers (AC/DC's greatest hits had turned up missing shortly after the morning's venture to Biggerson's).

Dean eyed him for a while as they drove in relative silence.

"You good, Cas?"

Castiel turned his eyes forward after a moment, sighing heavily.

"I am sorry, Dean. I do not know what assistance I can be to you in my present condition."

Dean scowled at the angel. He didn't understand why Cas was always so self-effacing when he couldn't get his mojo up. "Cas," he sighed. "Look, man. You were trying to help. You got us a pretty good lead, too. Well, it doesn't make sense, but it was more than we had this morning, right? Sucks you got boned in the process, but don't bail out on us now. You'll get your mojo back."

Castiel nodded curtly, obviously still wallowing in self-pity.

"So what was your revelation, anyway? You know what we're dealing with yet?"

Castiel paused for a long moment. "I still cannot say for certain. The substance that we found at the house is unknown to me, and yet there is something familiar. The other component... eludes me."

The other component. Cas had said that the goop they found was sulfuric, and something else... but he hadn't said what.

"Guess that means we go about it the old-fashioned way. If Sammy doesn't find any lore on the net, tomorrow we head over to Sierra Nevada CC and commandeer their bio lab."

[XXXXXX]

Everything began to fall apart at the diner.

Dean pulled into the lot, easing the Impala into the spot beside a battered old Ford Ranchero.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Dean groused as he got out of the car. Castiel climbed out begrudgingly, following him into the restaurant.

The first clue that something was amiss was the flying mustard bottle that abruptly shattered on the door frame above Dean's head.

The second was the kitchen staff sword fighting with butter knives.

The thing that really gave it away, though, was the two burly, leather clad, heavily tattooed men in each other's faces at the bar, arguing with each other loudly in an outburst of song worthy of Rogers and Hammerstein.

"What the..." Dean gaped as he dodged an errant salad plate.

It was like a bad scene out of all the worst classic movies Dean had ever been forced to watch in his life, all crammed into one place. Thing singing bikers were ramping up their assault of each other into a legitimate fist fight, and there was food flying everywhere. He'd seen his fair share of riots, but this one really took the cake.

"Perhaps we should retreat," Castiel suggested, lingering in the vestibule.

Dean considered Cas's advice for a moment, then proceeded into the devolving chaos, dodging a fork that flew at his head like a guided missile.

Castiel sighed in consternation, resigning to follow close behind Dean.

"Sam?"

Dean froze. He knew that voice.

Taking cover behind the hostess's counter, Dean scanned the area quickly. It didn't take him long- through the kitchen, by the door that led out behind the restaurant, was an awkward, dorky, all too familiar face.

Garth, the wirey little weirdo he just couldn't bring himself to completely dislike, was ushering people out the back door, away from the chaos.

Castiel gave Dean a puzzled look, but followed when Dean started back through the kitchen, narrowly avoiding a misguided lunge from the bus boy as the cook parried.

"Garth," Dean whispered harshly." "What the hell are you doing in California?"

Garth, usually the talkative type, just shrugged, giving Dean a helpless look.

Odd.

Dean shook his head, then made sure everyone was clear, save those actively engaged in the weirdest riot in the history of ever, then pulled the fire alarm- setting off the sprinkler system.

It seemed to do the trick. The singing stopped abruptly and the condiments were no longer flying- even the cook and the bus boy had ceased their epic battle and were now eyeing each other in open confusion.

Dean pulled Castiel through the door after Garth before anyone decided that they should become a target.

[XXXXXX]

"What the hell was that?!" Dean clamored once they were clear of the door.

Garth shifted awkwardly, glancing at Castiel and raising an eyebrow.

Dean followed the young hunter's gaze and shook his head. "... Cas, this is Garth Fitzgerald. Garth, this is Cas- … a friend of mine." Garth was a decent enough guy, but he wasn't about to give him the whole "Angel of the Lord" shpiel.

"Greetings," Castiel nodded to the other man amicably.

"Mind explaining a few things? Like what happened in there, and what you're doing here? You on the rugaru case, too?"

Garth looked perplexed, but still said nothing, looking a little... embarrassed?

"Come on, man, what's with the silent treatment? You're not getting shy on me, are you?" Dean raised an eyebrow. The guy hadn't opened his mouth once other than to call out Sam's name, and he hadn't yet been assaulted by Garth's attack hug. Something smelled _wrong_.

Garth took a deep breath as though bracing himself.

"For sooth_, _I find myself elated in thy company. I know'st not what fell evil has't beseig'd this city, nor of what vile creature you speak, t'was a wendigo I sought."

Dean just stared at the younger man, speechless.

"Uh, what..." Dean tried, flabbergasted.

Garth shrugged, pulling a folded newspaper clipping from his pocket, offering it over.

Dean unfolded the clipping and scanned over it. It was the same article that had led Sam and himself to town.

"Nah, wasn't a wendigo. Turns out the dude's wife shot him to death after he went Hannibal on his best friend when he found out his wife was boning him. Wasn't a rugaru, either. Hell, we don't know _what_ it was. What's up with the Shakespeare crap, anyway?"

Garth held up a finger, digging in his pocket again and pulling out a polaroid.

Dean took the photo and raised an eyebrow, showing it to Castiel.

The image showed a patch of unassuming grass and a bit of concrete sidewalk. What appeared to be bubbling up in one spot was some kind of ick that looked suspiciously like the goop they'd found at the Hopphner house.

"Lemme guess. You investigated, found this crap, not long after you sound like freakin' MacBeth?"

Garth shrugged.

"I officially hate this town. Remind me once this is all over never to come to California again."

"Dean, I think perhaps we should vacate the premises before the authorities arrive."

Garth stopped, staring first at Castiel, then at Dean.

"... It's a long freakin' story. Come on, Yoda. You can follow us back to the motel and we'll compare notes, but let's get out of here before this place turns into a shit-storm."

The three rounded the building to the parking lot where Dean stopped, a look of abject horror on his face.

"...Baby," he croaked miserably, looking utterly crestfallen.

All of the cars in the lot had in the last 10 minutes since they arrived had been painted bright pink- and the Impala was no exception.

"Oh baby, what happened to you..." Dean ran his hands over the hood of the car, speaking in soothing, comforting tones.

"Dean," Castiel intoned from the rear of the vehicle, pointing toward a storm drain in the middle of the lot.

Dean and Garth both cast a glance in the direction Cas was indicating, where the same bluish ichor was bubbling up lazily through the grate.

"Ah, screw this crap! And screw this case!"

(**Note-** While I find it hilarious to make Garth speak in iambic pentameter, I'm really not very good at writing it, so expect a lot of pantomiming from the little guy. Also, pink Impala. It really hurt to write that. Poor Dean!)


	5. Chapter 5

_Two pairs of glittering eyes watched in glee as the scene had unfolded in the restaurant._

_It delighted them when the black Impala had pulled into the parking lot. They had never met face to face, but they knew well who the owner of the car was. Surely things would get interesting from here._

_They hadn't counted on the angel appearing, but it just made things that much more fun. Sealing away the abilities of the Winchester's pet had been child's play. The Seraphim were weak, foot soldiers in their father's pathetic little army. _

_"Let's leave them a parting gift," said the ashen haired woman._

_The dark-haired man smiled as she rolled down the window of the vehicle's passenger side, holding her hand toward the metal grate in the concrete lot. He didn't even attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbled out of his throat. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been this entertained in all these centuries. It had been a misery at first, but since he'd found his companion, he was truly beginning to see the silver lining in having been locked out of hell when the gate had shut._

_Though disappointed in the lack of an Apocalypse, this existence certainly had its charms. He was even beginning to like humans, as much as any child with a magnifying glass liked a teeming ant hill. They were always full of surprises and oh, so ingenious._

_"They're coming," she purred. "We should leave them to their discovery. We'll have our moment, later."_

_He felt himself grinning like a child as the hunter finally appeared from behind the building and saw what had been done. It was just too priceless._

_Sated at a job well done, he put the vehicle into gear and pulled away from the lot, the two of them laughing as they drove away at a leisurely pace, no one any the wiser they had been there at all._

_This was just too easy._

[XXXXXX]

The drive back to the motel was terse silence, and Castiel was almost certain that Dean kept looking out the driver's side window to hide silent tears. The shock of finding his beloved Impala altered had been more than the young man could bear. Castiel knew better than to broach the subject, however. Dean kept his emotions close to his heart in most cases, and he knew that if pressed, it would only make things more difficult.

Upon pulling into the lot, Dean jerked the keys out of the ignition and stormed up the stairs without a word. Castiel fumbled with the seat belt and finally managed to free himself about the time the other man they had met at the diner pulled in.

Sam sat at the small bistro table by the window, startling when Dean threw the door open and stomped in, heading straight into the bathroom.

Castiel came in a moment later, followed by Garth.

"...Uh, do I even want to ask?" Sam glanced at the bathroom door as the water started running in the bathroom sink.

"Your brother is upset. His car was... vandalized."

Sam felt an immediate sense of dread. There'd be no consoling Dean.

He looked to Garth, the awkwardness of the situation settling back over him now that he was no longer alone, buried in his laptop. "Hey, uh, Garth. Guess you're working this case, too?"

Garth just shrugged helplessly.

"He has been effected by what is happening in this town as well," Castiel supplied.

"Oh," Sam said numbly. "So... I guess Dean probably filled you in already?"

Garth nodded, pulling out the newspaper clipping and Polaroid as well as a small pocket notebook, offering them to Sam.

"Yeah, nothing added up on this guy," Sam said as he looked over what the other hunter had found. "Went over the police reports this morning, nothing supernatural about this guy at all. But we did find some of this stuff at the scene."

Garth nodded, leaning over Sam's shoulder to flip to a page in the notebook, pointing to an entry on the page.

Sam read it twice, taking it in.

"Wow," he said finally. "Not bad, Garth. Good thinking taking it up to the lab. So I guess we know what the other compound is now, sort of."

Dean thundered out of the bathroom, not looking much better than when he went in, but at least looking less likely to break the face of whoever looked at him first.

"Hey," Sam called over to him. "Garth found something up at the college lab. He took a sample and had them do some tests to see what it was- turns out it some kind of fungus."

"Magic mushrooms from hell, wonderful."

"It's really not that odd," Sam continued, pulling up Google and doing a quick search. "Fungi can metabolize sulfates into sulfuric compounds, but this doesn't look like anything that's been cataloged before..."

"It isn't of this world," Castiel piped in from across the room.

All three hunters turned toward the angel, waiting. Castiel wasn't used to being the center of attention like this. He had often supplied information in the past, but it had always been somewhat familiar terms. He was becoming more certain of his theory, and the more certain he became, the stronger the coppery taste of fear in the back of his throat became.

Swallowing it down, he continued. "I believe I may have an idea what we are fighting."

"You've said that about a hundred times now, Cas," Dean responded hotly. He wasn't mad at Cas, per say, but he was getting real tired of his obtuse theories.

"Twice," Castiel corrected without pause. "I also said that I had not sensed anything powerful enough to affect the spell that has been placed on you and your brother. There are few things capable of that level of deception."

"Like what?" Sam urged.

"Fairies was one possibility," Castiel continued after a moment's thought. "But the Hopphner home lacked sufficient evidence of fae interference. An archangel could have done as well, though there are few left, and to my knowledge they are otherwise occupied in rebuilding Heaven."

Garth looked confused, but his unspoken question went ignored.

"So," Dean huffed. "That counts out fairies and archangels. What does that leave?"

Castiel sighed. "The most likely alternative is that one of the Princes of Hell passed through the gate when the seals were broken."

Silence settled over the room.

Dean looked to Sam. He could see the worry in his brother's eyes. Hell, he was probably reliving their cat and mouse game with Lucifer and Michael all over again. Everything that Sam had endured in the cage, and afterward when the wall had fallen in his mind- the torment Lucifer had put him through in his own mind. He wondered sometimes if his own time on the rack even compared to what Sam had gone through.

Dean turned back to Castiel, who had fallen silent, and realized that he looked- scared. Beyond scared. Even when Cas had been cut off at the end of the battle against Heaven and Hell, Castiel had kept his cool for the most part and stuck it out. It seemed like the apocalypse had left it's mark on the Hammer of God, as well.

"Well," Dean said, clearing his throat. "This sucks."

[XXXXXX]

After some debate about what to with the information, an ordered-in pizza and a beer run (which included a four pack of mojito wine coolers for Garth), they still had nothing close to resembling a formidable plan.

Sam had pulled up a list on his laptop of possible candidates from the Lesser Key of Solomon, reading them to Castiel and forming a list of suspects. Garth had pulled out his netbook on the other side of the table and was looking up anything throughout history that resembled what was going on in Grass Valley.

Dean was pacing. Research wasn't his thing. It's not that he didn't want to help, he did. He just hated sifting through all the information, and he really wasn't that fond of computers. At least dad's journal was concise. It was a hunter's journal- neat and laid out with all the lore he'd needed on things that dad had encountered, or cobbled together from other hunters.

Researching on his own just frustrated him.

"I'm going for a walk," he muttered as he shrugged into his jacket.

When no one challenged him, aside from Sam tossing him his phone from the table where he'd left it, he headed out of the room.

He tried not to look at the Impala as he headed out of the lot, and felt a pang in his chest as he caught sight of his baby in his periphery.

He caught himself wishing that Bobby was still around. He'd have taken her up the scrap yard once this job was done and set her back to right again as soon as he could, just like old times.

He missed Bobby something fierce right now. He'd find some kind of lore in one of his books or through his network that'd have this shit solved in no time. He missed the sanctuary of Bobby's place, being able to just drop in and cool off for a while. He could really use that kind of security right about now.

He was kidding himself if he wasn't scared shitless. He wouldn't even allow the thought to cross his mind of not beating whatever this was and putting things back the way they ought to be. With Cas's help, they at least had something now. It was a start.

After a little over a mile, he decided to head back.

Turning back the way he'd come, he stopped, kicking himself for not being more aware of his surroundings.

About a block behind him was a vehicle he realized belatedly that he'd seen a couple of times tonight, but hadn't made the connection until now.

The slick red Mustang was a newer model, a convertible. It wasn't exactly inconspicuous, but Dean had been so caught up in all the shit they'd been through since they got to town he hadn't really made the connection. It had been at the police station, he realised, when he and Sam had gone earlier in the day. It had been at the Diner where he and Cas had walked in on that insane riot. Had it been at the Motel the previous night? He wasn't sure, but he thought he had seen it, now that he thought about it.

Dean reached under his jacket, pulling the demon knife from its sheath and gripping it so that the blade rested against the inside of his arm, obscured, but ready should he need it.

He knew it was stupid to try to take on an unknown enemy on his own, and after a short mental debate, he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial.

The call picked up after the second ring.

"Sammy," he breathed into the phone. "I think I might've made some new friends..."

No sooner had he spoken the words when the car revved its engine, lurching toward him a few feet.

"...Dean?" Sam plied from the other end of the line. "What's wrong, where are you..."

"Uh..." Dean glanced at the road signs. "Auburn and Marshall. About a mile North of the motel."

There were no parting words, just the sound of action before the connection was severed, leaving Dean alone, face to face with an unknown enemy.

"Come on at me you son of a bitch," Dean grinned defiantly. "Show me what you got."

The vehicle seemed more than happy to oblige as the tires squealed, the headlights now rapidly closing the distance to where Dean stood.

"Shit, me and my big freakin' mouth..."

Dean did the only thing he could really think of with a third ton of steel barreling at him down the narrow street.

He ran his ass off.


	6. Chapter 6

(**Note: **I want to thank everyone who has read, followed and reviewed so far. What started out as a silly little crack comedy piece has turned into something far bigger, and it's been one hell of a ride for the boys so far! Thank you all for your support and your comments. It's really made the experience of writing this a fantastic one.)

Sam was moving even before his brain caught up to what he was doing, out of his seat so quickly, the chair didn't know how to cope and promptly fell over. Lunging across the room, he jerked open the nightstand drawer and withdrew the Glock 9mm concealed there.

"Sam," Castiel called, though if the young man heard he made no indication of it.

Garth starts to get up and grab his coat, but Sam snaps at him.

"You stay here! In case he makes it back. Cas, you keep an eye on Garth."

"Is it wise for you to go after him alone?" Castiel looked warily at Garth, clearly not liking the idea of being left alone with this young man he didn't know.

"I'll be fine!" Sam huffed, grabbing his hunting knife and heading out the door.

He silently cursed Dean for taking the keys to the Impala to go for a freaking walk. If he'd just left the damn things behind instead of acting like a petulant child, Sam grumbled internally, he would be halfway there by now. Country miles sucked.

It didn't help much that he felt like he wasn't covering ground as quickly as he should be. Panic drove his adrenaline up as he pushed himself to go faster, whatever it took to get to Dean before... he cut himself off. He wouldn't allow himself to think along those lines. Dean could take care of himself even on the worst of days.

The average man can run a mile in just over eight minutes.

Sam made it to the intersection of Auburn and Marshall in four and a half.

Out of breath, aching in places he'd never ached previously, even after pushing himself like that, Sam stopped, looking around, slightly disoriented.

"DEAN!" He shouted for all he was worth, but received no reply.

Sam ran his fingers back over his hair, bristling it into a mess.

_Think, Sam. Look around, look for anything..._

Taking a calming breath, he did- scanning the area. Halfway down the block there were tire marks, the scent of burning rubber. There weren't any houses here, just a business park and lots and lots of trees.

Sam's eyes followed the curve of the burnt rubber on the concrete. Ahead, at the curve over the sidewalk, there was an indentation in the turf where it connected to the sidewalk. The car must have run over the curb, which meant-

Dean must have gone that direction.

He didn't have anything else to go on, so that was the way he ran.

[XXXXXX]

Dean didn't know how long he'd been running. Several minutes at least.

When the mustang had jumped the curb, he cut in through the green belt that divided the two lane street from the business park, and he kept running.

He was vaguely aware as he passed through the parking lot and out the other side that the occupants of the vehicle had exited the vehicle. One, two doors slamming shut. Two attackers on his tail. Run, Dean- Run, faster...

He found it was surprisingly easy in Sam's body. Must be all that healthy crap and his insane habit of going for long runs in the mornings on quiet days. He made a mental note to try to think about eating healthier and maybe even joining Sammy on those morning runs if- no, _when_ they got back to normal. Maybe.

Dean almost felt like he was flying as he vaulted through the trees. He was a freakin' gazelle. _I am a leaf on the wind..._

He chuckled to himself in spite of the situation, as though he couldn't hear two other sets of feet behind him, crashing through the low brush in hot pursuit.

He needed to circle back, try to get behind the two... whatever they were. Demons, he supposed.

Sam would be on his way- or was he already there, looking for him? In retrospect, taking off like that probably wasn't the brightest idea, but it wasn't like he had a lot of options at the time. If he'd stayed put, he risked either getting run over or having two unknown supernatural attackers gang up on him. He could have run back down the street, but that would have put him too close into proximity with the car and it's occupants. He just needed to get his bearings and circle back, meet Sam in the middle, and take these two sons of bitches out.

That was the plan.

But Winchester luck is a fickle thing.

As Dean adjusted his course to angle his way back, he planted his foot wrong, getting caught up in some kind of vines.

Tucking his arms in close as he fell, careful to keep the blade of the demon knife pointed away from him, he tumbled down a short embankment and came to a rest against an old redwood, knocking the wind out of him.

He was only dazed for a moment, gathering himself up with a soft swear, but his right ankle was having none of it. Sharp pain shot up to his knee and he hissed through his teeth, slumping against the tree.

He couldn't stay out in the open, not with those two freaks on his ass.

A few yards away was a fallen log. It was worth a shot.

He pulled himself over to it, leaving as little of a trail in his wake as he could as he limped along, then ducked behind the log- trying to make himself as invisible as possible, clutching the knife in his hand.

They closed on him minutes later, at the top of the embankment he'd stumbled off of like an idiot.

The man was tallish, maybe a little taller than himself. Well, himself-himself. He was pretty sure he probably outranked him at the moment. He had a black mop of hair, hanging down to his jaw, a young face. Christ, this guy wasn't much more than a kid... skinny black jeans, denim jacket and all. Looked like one of those goth kids he'd seen hanging out in malls. Or were they called emo now? He didn't know, and he didn't care.

The woman with him was older, in her late twenties or early thirties, Dean guessed. She had lighter hair, blonde or light brown maybe, dressed in jeans and a green t-shirt and light jacket. She was fairly attractive, Dean supposed, but there was no mistaking the black orbs where her eyes should have been. A demon. Well that killed any possibilities of a chance encounter.

"Winchester," the boy spoke, a voice that fairly trembled with command. "We know you're there. Come out, and let's meet one another. I've heard _so_ much about you."

Dean bit his lip to keep the snarky remark from jumping out of his mouth unbidden. Not only was he alone, he was now freakin' injured on top of it. And Sam... hell, he'd screwed the pooch on that, too.

"Nice work with the apocalypse, by the way. You and your brother. That was _really_ something."

_No way_, Dean commanded himself. _If he's talking you up this much, he hasn't spotted you. If he hasn't spotted you, you've still got time to think of __**something!**_ _Keep your stupid mouth shut!_

"I've been wanting to shake the hand of the men who tossed Michael in the pit with Lucifer. Hilarious! You people never cease to amaze."

_I won't think about that, I won't think about what it cost...This bastard's just trying to get my gall up._

Dean looked around frantically. There was no escape from this. He didn't have any other choice. It would give his position away, but if he could pull it off quick enough, maybe that wouldn't matter.

"_Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus,_"

The mystery guy went silent as Dean started speaking. He could hear a gagging cough from above him on the embankment- the woman. Only one. Crap. But maybe, it might even the odds.

"_Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii..._"

"Oh, Dean. Aren't you clever..." He heard a mocking tone in the voice. Dean gritted his teeth, fighting down the urge to just pop out and chuck his knife into that smug face.

"_Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo-"_

Dean was cut off as something landed heavily on the log that had been his shelter. A strong hand lifted him up by the back of his neck, causing him to drop the knife in shock, crushing until Dean saw stars floating in front of his eyes. His hands instinctively went to the one holding him, clawing in an attempt to free himself, kicking his good foot back like a mule. He wasn't choking, but it was almost worse- he could feel the cold seeping into him as his blood supply was cut off from his brain, making his head swim.

"You really shouldn't do that, Dean. Marbas is a rather good friend of mine."

"Go... to hell... sonnovabitch," Dean managed to choke.

"In good time. When I grow tired of this place, perhaps."

"_Ergo.. draco maladicte,_" Dean may be screwed, but he was damned if he wasn't going to go down swinging.

"Tsk. Still trying. That's just adorable..."

Without warning, Dean was flying through the air, his vision going momentarily white as the blood rushed back to his head with a vengence- exploding in a rush of fireworks as he impacted with a tree, landing in a jumble of long limbs on the soft carpet of underbrush. Not that it did much, still hurt like a bitch.

Dean was just beginning to pull himself up when a punishing boot connected with his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. And then again, driving into the pit of his stomach, then into his face, his chest, assaulting relentlessly.

"You were amusing, but now you're just pathetic. The great Dean Winchester, reduced to-"

There was a crack of gunfire, and his attacker abruptly stopped his assault, spinning back to where his accomplice was still standing.

A booming voice thundered "_Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias liberte servire te rogamus, AUDI NOS!"_

There was an effeminate scream and what sounded like a crack of thunder, followed by a soft thud. Then there was the rapid succession of gunfire, and Dean was dimly aware of his attacker lurching backward a few paces- and then he disappeared.

"DEAN!"

Dean was aware that the voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it... where the hell was Sammy? And who the fuck was calling his name?

"DEAN!" The voice was closer, and then someone was on top of him, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him up.

Dimly, he was aware that he was fighting, and took a swing, connecting fluidly with the air.

"Get off me you son of a bitch!" Dean growled, throwing another wild swing with his other arm, connecting weakly with his attacker.

"Dean, it's me... It's Sam... calm down, they're gone..."

"Sammy..." Some of the fire went out of his belly. It didn't look like Sammy, but the shadows... the way the shadows fell on the other man... "... Dad?" Dean choked up. Everything was going to be all right, after all.

"... Come on, let's get you out of here..."

And the world swam away, fading to black.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was hurt bad.

It seemed to take forever to pull him out of those woods to the nearest road.

It was purely by luck that Sam found the demon knife by the log where Dean had dropped it during the rather one-sided fight with the mysterious creature that Sam had found kicking his brother's brains in. He carefully tucked it into his pocket, just in case either demon came back.

Sam had almost given in to despair when he'd heard it, his own voice speaking the words of the exorcism through the trees. Moments later he saw the first demon, a blonde woman standing on an embankment. He fired a shot through her neck when she had turned, giving him just enough time to pick up the incantation where Dean had left off, sending her back to hell.

It was dark now, but he could see in the faint moonlight through the trees the thin young man standing over his own form, over Dean. Dean looked bruised and bloodied. What the hell? He wondered offhanded why the other guy wasn't on the ground. Dean was a tough son of a bitch, he should've been able to take on a couple of demons.

Only why was the other one still there? He was well within range, and Dean had been right next to him during the first part of the incantation. He should have been sent back along with his companion, but there he stood.

Without thinking, Sam raised the Glock and fired off a warning shot into the demon's shoulder, and then another, and another.

_Get the hell away from my brother,_ he thought at the creature, gritting his teeth against the concussion of the gun's retort.

He didn't know how many rounds he'd squeezed off, but the demon down in the shallow ravine just smiled at him, all but unphased.

And then he simply vanished.

Sam almost thought he heard a soft rustle of feathered wings when he did.

Troubled, but more concerned with other things at the moment, he slid down the embankment toward Dean.

"Dean!"

He saw the previously still form on the ground shift and groan. Thank God, he was conscious, at least.

"Dean," he called again, all but crashing over his brother, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up, trying to get a good look at his injuries. He didn't expect Dean to take a swing at him, but managed to dodge it, barely.

"Get off me you son of a bitch," Dean spat. His eyes unfocused as he took another swing, his fist thudding against Sam's bicep. Sam could see a nasty bruise forming over the left side of his face and winced. Suddenly he half hoped their situation wouldn't be fixed _too_ soon. That was going to hurt like hell.

"Dean, it's me... It's Sam... Calm down, they're gone..."

Dean calmed down a bit, staring up at him, looking dazed. "Sammy..."

Sam felt himself smile a bit, but then Dean got the strangest look on his face.

"...Dad?"

Sam blinked, frowning down at Dean as he choked up, curling in on himself.

Apparently he'd taken a few too many blows to the head.

"...Come on," Sam sighed. He hoped he could get a cell signal, small towns weren't always great for that when you got off the beaten path. "Let's get you out of here."

Dean cooperatively lost consciousness.

[XXXXXX]

Sam had resorted to a fireman's carry about a hundred yards on. It took them about 20 minutes to get back to the road, where he set Dean down against the wooden guard rail and called the room. When Cas picked up, he had told the angel to have Garth drive out to them and pick them up. They were now almost three miles from the motel, way further than Sam would be able to carry his brother.

Once they'd gotten Dean inside, he seemed to be coming around a bit.

"Sam," he croaked, still halfway over the rainbow. "Sammy,"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm right here."

"I hate California."

"Yeah, Dean. I know..."

"Let's never come here again."

"Okay, Dean."

"And screw this town, too."

"Yeah," Sam smiled a bit. At least it wasn't too bad. He'd live. Which was a good thing, too. Because Sam was going to kick his ass for getting _his _ass kicked once they got themselves back into their own respective meatsuits.

[XXXXXX]

Garth had decided to check into his own room after Dean had passed out on one of the beds. Everyone was tired, even Castiel, who had passed out in a less than dignified manner on the loveseat once he had been assured that Dean was all right. The angel wasn't used to slumming it without his abilities, and they'd been going all day. Sam sometimes thought he really was like a little kid, so easily amused and sometimes overwhelmed by a world he still didn't completely understand.

Sam stayed up to keep an eye on Dean, and just in case either of the demons came back.

He spent the time researching.

"You should rest," Castiel's voice almost made Sam jump out of his skin. Even without his abilities, the angel move in complete silence. Or maybe Sam was just that tired.

"I think I've found something. It took me a while, but I got to thinking about Hopphner."

Castiel took the seat across from Sam, tilting his head to one side.

"There was no rhyme or reason to the way he snapped, other than that fungus we found at the scene. Well, I dug a little deeper into their family history. Turns out they have a 19-year-old son who goes to college in San Francisco."

Castiel continued to stare his '_Please, I implore you to continue,' _stare. Which, really, was like any of his other stares. You pick up on these things after you've been around someone for a while.

"He went missing a few days ago. His friends reported it in when he didn't make it back to his dorm Saturday night. It hadn't made it to the police report by the time of the murder, and Mrs Hopphner still isn't talking to anyone. But look," Sam turned the laptop so that Castiel could see the screen.

Castiel shifted his eyes to the picture of a young man with shaggy, dark hair and dark eyes surrounded by thick black eyeliner, wearing a black t-shirt and a denim jacket.

"This is the guy I saw last night. It might be a stretch, but I'd say our demon possessed this kid, maybe the kid knew what was going on with his mom and Frank Garten- some resentment the demon decided to act on."

"You said that the boy vanished," Castiel said, steering Sam back to the events of the previous night.

"Yeah, I must've shot him six times..." It slowly began to dawn on Sam the manner in which the boy had disappeared. Apart from Crowley, he had never seen a demon simply vanish into thin air like that. "Shit."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him.

Sam twirled the computer back around, furiously pecking at the keys.

"Tell me more about the Princes of Hell, Cas."

[XXXXXX]

Everything. _Hurt._

He tried to move, but even before the thought relayed itself to his nervous system, a wave of nausea hit him and he decided to just lay still for a while with his eyes closed.

He cracked one eye open, scowling at the visage of the sun's first few rays seeping through the curtains over the window. He could hear Sam and Cas talking, but the meaning of the words eluded him for the time being. For the moment, he just wanted to wallow.

"Ngh," he eloquently articulated to the room.

"Hey," his voice own responded. Sammy. Sam must've found him and brought him back to the room. He was beginning to catch up to the previous night in brief snatches, running through the woods, being dragged back to the motel, puking in the passenger seat of Garth's car. ...He'd go apologize for that later.

"N'time..."

"It's a quarter till eight. How are you feeling? Need anything?"

"Some morphine maybe... ugh. You take hits like a girl, Sammy..." Dean tried on his best grin, trying to push past the pain and get back in the game.

Sam gave him a small smile, prefaced by a half-hearted bitchface.

Dean rolled himself up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. As hard as he got kicked, he'd be surprised if a couple weren't broken.

"Sorry, Sammy. Meant to give it back in one piece..."

"Don't worry about it. I'll get you back later." Sam smiled, letting him know he was only half serious.

"What've we got, anything?" Dean steadied himself a bit on the edge of the bed, letting the pain settle and wash over him. He'd been beat down worse, he was pretty sure he could push through this and get the job done.

"Actually," Sam moved back over to his laptop on the table, where Castiel was picking red and green peppers out of his omelette and arranging them by colour on the plate. "Cas, stop playing with it and just eat it. You were the one who said you were hungry. Anyway, when I shot that guy off of you last night, he disappeared, like into thin air. I did some digging and turns out the host is the Hopphners' kid, Marcus Hopphner- age 19, goes to UCSF. Kid went missing Saturday night, now he shows back up here in Grass Valley and things are going nuts..."

Dean frowned. "Anything else 'weird' happen since the West Side Story riots?" The reference to the previous afternoon's debacle at the diner brought back the memory of his poor baby. That was the first thing he was doing when this was over.

"Nothing major. Some reports in the news this morning about tap water running red 'like blood', and apparently a 'poltergeist' at the K-Mart that they're passing off as the night crew getting sauced and wrecking the place."

Castiel was apparently content with the presentation of his omelette now, as he picked up his fork and began stabbing at it.

Sam sighed and patiently took his hand, showing him how to cut it and scoop it instead.

Dean smirked at the scene. He felt a little bad for Cas, but he had to admit it was pretty freaking hilarious to watch him struggle with something as mundane as eating breakfast.

"I do not know how humans have managed with such tools," Castiel griped. "Your ancestors did not require such implements."

Sam gave his brother a shrug. "We think we know what we're dealing with, though. It's not looking pretty."

Dean tried to stand, his ankle reminding him of the previous night's misadventures as he settled his weight on it, wincing and hissing through his teeth before steadying himself. It wasn't terrible, but it did freaking hurt. It'd probably be fine if he wrapped it. In the meantime, he hobbled over to the table and leaned over Sam to look at the laptop's screen.

"... Princes of Hell," Dean read aloud. "...Belial."


	8. Chapter 8

(**Note:**I want to apologize in advance for this chapter being somewhat weak. After re-writing it three times, this is what I ended up with, and I found it suitable to the plot. I decided to break the climax into two parts so that it wouldn't seem too abrupt. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy, and I will be posting the conclusion soon :)

"No friggin' way, this is _suicidal!_"

"Dean," Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. They had spent hours now going over the details, and the plan they had come up with was sketchy at best.

"It may be the only way," Castiel added gravely. "Even if I could retrieve my blade, it would be nearly impossible to kill one of the Fallen."

There was a heavy emphasis on the capital F. The Fallen, Castiel had explained, were different from your average every-day fallen angels such as Anna Milton and himself. They were the first to fall, the ones who stood beside Lucifer when he had fallen from Grace and been cast out of Heaven. They were powerful archangels who had allied themselves with the Morningstar.

Belial, Castiel had explained, was one of the lesser of the Fallen, but still potent and very dangerous. He suspected that Belial would easily be on par with Raphael, if not more powerful still.

"So we're just supposed to trick this asshole into walking into a goddamn angel ring and light his ass up like the god damned Olympic Torch?"

Castiel gave Dean a scathing look at the blaspheme but didn't remark on it.

"It's what we've got, Dean," Sam plied. Their options didn't look great, and it didn't guarantee that things would go back to normal afterward. Things were getting desperate, however, and they had all agreed that this needed to be put to an end before they had another Hopphner case on their hands.

"Yeah well I don't like it, Sammy. This plan stinks." Dean paced a bit, limping back and forth across the room. "We've only got enough holy oil for one shot at this. If we screw this up,"

"If we 'screw up', Dean," Castiel gestured. "Then we will likely not live to meet the repercussions of failure."

A silence settled over the room as they all took a moment to digest that.

Dean was starting to get nervous. It was already mid-afternoon and there'd been no signs or omens beyond what the news had reported of the previous night. He was pretty sure that the asshole hadn't forgotten about him and Sammy packing his demon bitch off back to hell.

The longer nothing happened, Dean reasoned, the worse it was likely to be when something did.

"You sure there's no way we can't just gank this son of a bitch?" Dean whined.

Sam and Castiel both turned toward him impatiently and said flatly, in unision, "No."

Dean held up his hands and backed away. "All right, fine. We'll go suicidal, then."

He stalked off to the bathroom, shutting the door.

Sam sighed, shaking his head.

"Your brother is under a great deal of stress," Castiel murmured. "He is also injured."

Sam scoffed out a cheerless laugh. "You wanna try and keep him here?"

"I feel that would be," Castiel considered how Dean would react for a moment. "Unwise."

Sam smiled a little bit. "So... we go up to the Hopphner's after dark, set the trap and then try to summon Belial." Sam let out a long breath. "Dean's right about one thing, this _is _suicidal."

"Once he is sealed," Castiel looked up to the ceiling, as though praying for it to be true. "My abilities _should_ return, to a degree."

"We can't count on that, Cas. We still have to _get_ to that point."

Dean finally ambled out of the bathroom, his right ankle wrapped tight in an Ace bandage, cleaned up considerably. "All right," he said with a sharp clap of his hands. "Let's round up Garth and get to plannin'!"

[XXXXXX]

It was nearly midnight when they had everything gathered and they all knew their roles.

Their arsenal left them all feeling rather uncomfortable; spray paint, demon knife, salt guns and half a decanter of holy oil.

No one spoke as they climbed into the Impala and began the short drive to the Hopphner home.

The cul-de-sac was quiet as Dean pulled up in front of the gate. One nice thing about small communities like this was that the houses were fairly spread apart, and people tended to turn in pretty early.

The house itself seemed almost oppressive in light of the task that lay ahead, the windows staring accusations at them.

Dean let out a long sigh, breaking the tense silence. "This thing ain't gonna do itself. Let's get rolling."

They all climbed out of the vehicle, Dean going around back and popping the trunk, pulling up the false bottom and handing out weaponry from their small but generally impressive arsenal.

"Everyone got their cue cards ready?" He checked the barrel of his pump-action. Two shells loaded, ten more in his pockets, demon knife in its sheath on his belt.

"Let's go," Sam said, handing out cans of red spray paint as he spoke. "Garth, you take the North. Dean and I will take East and West. Cas you've got South."

"Let's seal this bitch up!" Dean cracked the shells into place.

Once inside the four split up, inscribing the Enochian symbols Castiel had provided on the walls and windows of each compass point in the house. They would, he explained, diminish the Grace of any angel within their confines, making it possible to subdue them. He didn't know how he would be effected, given his own sealed abilities, but the options were limited and it was their best chance at sealing Belial.

Once the sigils were in place, Dean made the circle of holy oil in the living room below a hastily drawn devil's trap. No avenues were going unexploited for this job.

"All right," he said when it was done. "Who's going to play bait?"

[XXXXXX]

Sam stood alone under the moonlight in the crisp autumn air. He let his eyes wander over his surroundings, making sure that if and when things went south, he could easily evade and put himself into position to carry out the rest of the plan.

Steeling himself, he closed his eyes, breathing in and out slow and deep.

"Belial," he spoke aloud to the night. "I know you're out there, listening. We have unfinished business."

The night was still, everything seemed, _empty_ somehow. Devoid of life. The frogs and crickets were strangely absent, not even a breeze stirred the the leaves overhead. It was as though the property had been sealed in a sound-proof dome.

Then there was a faint sound, the soft rustling of feathers that Sam had come to associate with Castiel's abrupt coming and going, and suddenly he found himself in the old wooden shed across the yard in a heap of broken lumber and odds and ends.

Struggling to re-orient himself as his lungs tried futily to remember how to draw in air, a pair of hands grabbed him, hauling him out of the wreckage and he found himself airborne once more, crashing bodily into the side of the house.

"I had higher expectations from the Winchester brothers," cooed a smooth, masculine voice. "You've proven yourselves far less entertaining than I had anticipated. Enochian wards? Really?"

Sam gasped for breath, pushing himself up out of the flower bed he'd landed in. "Why do this? The Apocalypse is over..."

Belial shrugged at him, his lips curling up at the corners in a relaxed smirk.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?" Sam blinked. It wasn't the answer he had expected. They had all surmised that Belial must be trying for another Apocalypse, some sort of seal perhaps.

"Do you have any idea how _boring_ this world is? I mean sure, the scenery is better than Hell, it is a wonder of creation. But you _people_... your ridiculous little lives, like ants, scurrying about, building, destroying, polluting, protesting- it's all so tiresome."

Sam pushed himself up on shaky legs, edging closer to the door as Belial approached him.

"I thought to myself, _this place could use a little shaking up..._ and then I met Marbas. Oh, she was wonderful. Principle of panic. You could say it was a match made in Hell."

Belial laughed at himself, apparently finding it funnier than Sam did.

"So what, you're doing this just for entertainment?"

"Of course. Locked away on this little chunk of rock, one does get bored so easily."

"Why Hopphner, though?"

"To appease my vessel, naturally. He wouldn't have said yes otherwise."

Sam laughed bitterly. Of course. Lucifer had tried the same tactics with him, courting him with power, using Jessica against him.

Sam used the time Belial spent gloating to move himself closer to the door leading into the kitchen. God damn, this was such a long shot. He was beginning to doubt he'd be able to get him inside.

"We know we can't kill you," Sam said. "What will it take to get you to stop this?"

"Why would I stop? I'm just getting started. I could kill you with a thought, but where would be the fun in that?"

"Fun's right here, Cupcake," Dean grinned from behind the Fallen archangel, thrusting the demon knife into the heart of the Prince of Hell and blowing him a kiss.

It was a long shot. Castiel had reasoned that, as Belial's corrupted Grace was bound to Hell, the knife likely wouldn't kill him- but it might subdue him long enough to give them the upper hand. After carving a few symbols into the handle, they had decided it was their best chance to subdue him.

Belial made a surprized sound, glancing down at the knife in his chest as though it was nothing more than an annoyance.

"Well," he grinned at the hunter. "You've got balls after all."

"Not on the first date, sweetie," Dean grinned back.

Sam was on his feet, pulling the black sack from his pocket and slipping it over Belial's head, pulling it taught at the back.

Belial screamed in utter rage, but staggered back against Sam- the sigils on the inside of the sack doing their work.

Each brother grabbed an arm, dragging their captive into the house and depositing him into the circle of holy oil.

Dean reached in his pocket for his silver Zippo, striking it and dropping it onto the circle and setting it alight.

"Well," Dean puffed, catching his breath. "That was actually kind of easy..."

Belial laughed, pulling the sack from over his head.

"What's so funny, giggles?"

"You left me with a weapon."

Belial pulled the knife out of his chest.

"Shit," Dean barely had time to draw a breath, lunging to one side as the Fallen threw the blade like a pro pitcher, the burying it in his right thigh all the way to the hilt.

Dean landed with a dull thud against the wall, dropping down on his ass as he reached for the hilt of the blade with a hiss of pain, gritting his teeth. "Son of a bitch..."

Belial smirked, and then, his arms spread out from his sides, eyes closed, and began to gather his power unto himself, causing the foundations of the house to tremble.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam held his hand against the wall in a vain attempt to steady himself. He winced as he glanced at his brother, still on the floor by the couch, the hilt of the demon knife sticking out of his leg. He vaguely worried that was going to suck once he got his body back, but Dean was a bigger concern now. And, of course, the pissed off Fallen archangel that was trying to bring down the house around them from its prison in the circle of holy oil.

Cas and Garth were out of the house, at least, but that just left Dean and himself to finish cleaning up this mess- if they could. If they failed, the angel and the other hunter would try to pick up where they left off and expel the prince of Hell.

Belial stood in the center of the circle of fire, his arms outspread, murmuring under his breath. The walls were beginning to crack under the weight of the former archangel's power, and Sam surmised it wouldn't take long for him to crack the floor, as well, freeing him from his prison.

He looked to Dean, who gave him a quick nod, letting him know that he'd be all right, just hurry the hell up.

Sam turned back to the centre of the room where the Fallen angel stood and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, holding the creature's eyes as he read from it.

"Omni potentas dei potestatum invoco," he began. That _definitely _got Belial's attention.

"Omni potentas dei potestatum invoco..." Sam flinched as Belial let out an amused laugh, but he saw that it had an effect on the creature- his power seemed to have waned, the foundations of the house no longer trembling.

"Aborbe terran... Hoc angelorum in obsequentum..."

"Where did you learn that," Belial asked, his voice strained. "Did Castiel teach you that?"

Sam ignored the Fallen's question, continuing to read off the cue. "Domine expoet... Domine expoet..."

Belial screamed, arching backwards. Sam could see the dim, purplish light seeming from the corners of the vessel's eyes.

Belial let out a shrieking laugh. "That won't... send me to hell, boy..."

Sam grinned. He was counting on that. The angel banishing spell would send his ass straight to Heaven, where the angels could deal with their Fallen brother.

"Hobie abba tempere," Sam finished, staring coldly at the Fallen angel.

Belial screamed, sickly purplish light radiating from him- spilling from his eyes and mouth. The angel threw his arms back, the shriek escalating to an ear-splitting pitch that cracked the windows in the house- and then there was an explosion of pure white light that threw Sam back against the wall behind him, knocking the wind out of him.

Sam shielded his eyes as the room went white, but there was still the after-image of the Fallen archangel's vessel imprinted in his eyes, vaguely man-shaped with the faintest suggestion of massive, feathered wings.

There was a long, ringing silence in which Sam thought he might have gone deaf.

_Sammy..._

Sam lowered his arm, panting to catch his breath as he surveyed the ruined room through a haze of white. Something wasn't quite right about his perspective, and _God _he was in pain...

_Sammy, hey..._

The ringing in his ears gradually subsided.

"Sam!" He flinched as he felt someone grab his arm.

Looking up, he saw Dean's face, his brother's _actual_ face, staring down at him in worry.

"Dean?" Sam felt like he was going to pass out from the pain in his right leg, and he felt light-headed. He noticed, idly, that his jeans were soaked and sticky with blood. How did Dean manage to push past this?

"Come on, Sammy," Dean sighed. "Let's get the hell out of here before any more weird shit happens..."

Sam closed his eyes. He knew it was going to suck.

[XXXXXX]

Back at the motel, Castiel had enough of his mojo back to heal the worst of the boys' injuries up to merely 'dull and throbbing'. Dean was nearly in tears when they had gotten back to the Impala to find that his baby no longer looked like Barbie Ferrari and spent some time consoling the metal beauty, caressing her hood and promising that he would never, _never _let something like that happen to her again.

When they'd pulled into the lot, Garth had gotten into his own car and driven to Denny's to pick them all up a well-deserved round of burgers.

Castiel was perched in front of the television when Dean got out of the shower later that night, Garth having retired to his own room after their rather unenthusiastic celebration and a round of hugs, which left Castiel looking ruffled and confused. Everyone was exhausted after the long, weird three days they'd all had, and Sam had passed out on his bed right after he'd taken a shower himself. Dean felt bad about the beating he'd gotten for his little brother, but it's not like it was his fault, right?

Dean plopped down on the sofa next to the angel, eyeing the screen of the crappy console television with open scrutiny.

"Dude, are you watching..."

Cas turned his head toward the hunter, one eyebrow raised.

"I believe," the angel said. "This is what you refer to as 'irony.'"

Dean shook his head, chuckling softly. "Freaky Friday? _Really_?"

The angel turned back to the screen, seeming vaguely amused at Dean's reaction.

"Man, I need to introduce you to DVDs," he said.

The angel snorted, and together he and the hunter finished watching the movie in companionable silence.

The next day, with mutual enthusiasm, they got the _hell _out of Grass Valley.

(**A/N: **Finally, it's done! I never have to look at it again! lol. To be honest, the plot of this fic still tickles me to no end. This was the first fic I've ever written, and I dove into it before I really knew what I was doing with it. I want to thank you all for your continued support and reviews. It was a blast to write! There are a few things I regret about this story, namely bringing Garth into it. I feel bad, because once I had him I didn't know what to do with him, and he just sort of floated around in the background throughout the rest of the fic.

may re-write this some time down the road, but for now I'm just happy that it's done. This went waaaay further than I had originally intended- it was originally supposed to only be a couple chapters of drabble and whackiness, but then it evolved and took on a life of it's own and spiraled way out of control. I want to apologize for putting off the conclusion for as long as I did, I know a couple of people were really urging me on to complete it. I'm not happy with the way it ended, but I am... content, I suppose.

In the meantime, I urge anyone who enjoyed this to check out my AU fic- Ride the Lightning. I learned a lot from writing Corpus Verto, as this is the first thing I've ever written to completion. Lesson learned, I suppose. I know now to have a confident plan for the end game from here on out, rather than shooting from the hip as I did here.

All in all, I hope you've enjoyed this fun little bit of semi-nonsense, and thank you again for reading! :)


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